


Circumlocution

by torrentialTriages



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Maine Suffers, Miscommunication, the word agent doesn't look real anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 16:35:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4270332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torrentialTriages/pseuds/torrentialTriages
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>York can't ask a question by himself, so he enlists Maine to do it for him.</p>
<p>That goes about as well as one can imagine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Circumlocution

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Toadflame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toadflame/pseuds/Toadflame) in the [RvB_Fic_War](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/RvB_Fic_War) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> You've been thrown together with no regard to who you are...so you best get to figuring out how you're gonna get along!
> 
> What? No, I'm not going to help you do that. What do you take me for, a counselor? This is a war!
> 
> **Prompt:** Write a fic about a character who has gone through or is going through a difficult experience, or maybe one that's _very_ trying.

"So, Maine," York sits down at the relatively unoccupied table in the mess hall, gazing at its formerly sole attendant over laced fingers. "Can I ask you to do me a favor?"

Maine's eyes flick to York's face, then he raises his eyebrows and tilts his head, indicating that it was okay to speak, and returns to his meal.

York leans in. "I need you to find something out for me, about North- I mean, I've asked South, Wash, Lina, Connie, I really don't wanna have to ask Wyoming, though, not to mention Florida," he shudders, "so I figured I'd come to you before that, hey?"

Maine, in reply, stabs at his salad's remains, sticks the forkful in his mouth, gets up with his empty plate, and leaves. 

"Wait!" York hisses, scrambling to follow his fellow Freelancer across the mess hall as Maine ambles over to the corner of the hall where dirty dishes were left to be washed later. "Hear me out, okay? I just need you to ask him a question."

Maine sets his plate down on the counter and swivels to look down at York. Deadpan, he points at his chest, very deliberately gestures at his throat, mimes flapping lips with the same hand, jabs his pointer finger repeatedly at his throat, again, if that wasn't clear enough before, and jerks his other thumb at North, who is sitting back on a bench and looking bemused at a story South is raucously rattling out to CT, whose breasts appear to be South's hostages for the duration of the conversation. Not that she seems to mind. But Maine's meaning is very clear. _You want_ me _to talk to him._

The two men stand there, looking at each other, and York coughs awkwardly. "Uh. Okay, so this isn't the greatest plan."

Maine snorts. He turns to leave.

\--

"Maine, hey! Maine!" It's York again, and Maine sighs deeply through his nose, willing himself to not break into a dead sprint. York still hasn't given up on enlisting Maine for whatever task he needs him to accomplish. It's been a week, a week of York asking, begging at times, playing whatever angle he figures will get Maine to do this one thing for him. "Remember the favor I was asking you for?" How could he not? "I'm asking again-" Maine speeds up. He's done here, he's definitely done here.

"Wait, just think about it!" York breaks into a run to keep up with Maine, who walks with long easy swaggering strides along the hallway, the odd staff member giving them strange looks as York trails behind Maine. Hell, they pass by Wyoming, who nods at Maine, then sees York jogging after him, then stares disconcertedly at Maine, who waves it off abashedly. York nearly catches up twice, but that is of no importance to Maine, who ducks into the locker room and slaps his lock around gently until his locker pops open. 

It slams back closed, and Maine feels his already-stretched patience fraying awfully quickly. He does not punch York in the face for having leaned on his locker, attempting to look casual, though. Instead, he fixes York with the most unamused stare he can muster. York stares back steadily, raising a single eyebrow in confusion.

Maine raps a knuckle on the locker twice, and York's face slackens at the abrupt realization. "Shit, sorry," he mumbles as he stands back upright and goes to stand on the other side of the benches. Maine huffs and starts pulling out disarrayed pieces of armor, assembling them on his body one by one.

"Anyway," York begins, "I've asked Connie what I can do to help you get me the info I want?" Maine has to prop his leg up on the bench to help his free hand attach the upper arm armor together, then goes back for the other. "And she... wasn't all that helpful, actually." He scratches the back of his neck and looks down. Maine moves onto the chest plate and various torso attachments, motions mechanic as he goes through them, about as fast as he can manage without actively looking like he's trying to get away from York. Which he is, by the way. "She said something about salad? Which isn't that easy to do, since, hey, look at me," he spreads his arms and chuckles, "I'm in no position to go stealing any of your stuff." Maine grunts in acknowledgement at that, reaching for the codpiece and brief-like armor attachment. "You get to the salad first whenever we have any, dude, I've just. Resigned myself to a life without vegetables in space." Maine silently wonders which thigh guard went on which leg again, before giving up and deciding with a small shrug that it's not like it matters. "Not even North nags us to eat vegetables anymore, you know that? He just sighs a lot and pokes at his dinner like he's personally hurt that there's no shredded lettuce on taco nights." Maine rummages through his locker for the boots. "Which, by the way, Maine, is not cool." Maine takes his head out of the locker for a second to frown at York, who shakes his head at him. "Not cool." Well, it's not his fault none of the kitchen workers never try to stop him. "Sometimes I get the feeling that South's gonna stab him with her fork, just to get rid of his sighing." Maine sits down heavily on the bench, and begins pulling on his boots. York blinks. "Anyway, as I was saying. The favor."

Maine shoots York a skeptical glance, which York interprets as a go-ahead. "I know for a fact that we're gonna be landing in a few days. And like, sure, this part of the galaxy's kinda-" Here he gestures a bit with his hands. "Rough around the edges? It's not the safest planet, but sure as hell is the closest. Guess we suffered one loss too many in that last battle." He rubs at his face, wearily all of a sudden, then gathers himself and continues. "Anyway, I figure if I use my shore leave to buy an entire month's supply of lettuce and shit for you, that'd leave more greens for us, eh?"

Maine thinks this is a stupid idea. He gives York one last unimpressed glare before he lowers the helmet over his head, hearing and feeling the seals hiss shut.

"Maine," York nearly pleads. "Come on, I'm gonna be going out there for you, the air's shit even with helmet filters on, the locals aren't a friendly bunch, and I'll be paying for this by myself."

Maine huffs, unimpressed, opting instead to fiddle pointedly with the magnum in his hands that he stood up to collect as York had been detailing the dangers of his plan.

"Oh, come on, Maine, I'm sticking my neck out for this! Please?"

Maine cocks his head, the rest of him still as ever, communicating his disgruntled uncertainty. York draws back his head for a brief second, giving the impression of multiple chins. "Not literally, you know, but-"

Maine decided he's had enough, and gently but firmly puts a gloved hand on York's mouth. York, thrown off, splutters and yells, but Maine just puts down his gun and picks up York, unarmored and (relatively) tiny and yelling, muffled in Maine's hand and the fishbowl visor of his helmet, and dumps him not as gently on the cold hard floor of the locker room, still yelling and thrashing around. Maine stands there and waits patiently for York to collect himself, playing with the tabs on his gloves as York scrambles into a sitting position, hands raised over his head as he struggles to collect himself enough to yell at Maine.

"What was that _for_?" he blurts, face pinking as he brings down his hands for emphasis. Maine shrugs a single shoulder.

"Get your own," he states in a voice unoiled and unused in ages, and picks at his gloved fingers in a show of indifference and _don't know, don't care, please go away_. "Salad," he adds, in case it wasn't clear. York scrambles to his feet and stalks back around the bench to get into Maine's space again, unintimidated by the sight of Maine in full armor, clenching and unclenching his fists as he struggles to find words, something Maine has rarely seen him do.

"Look, I'm desperate, okay? I just _need you to ask North what his real name is_ ," York all but howls, and that is the perfect time for North Dakota to step into the locker room, fresh out of the showers, looking like a very confused marble statue caught in the rain.

"York?" North asks, and York's eyes go wide with surprise. He buries his face in his hands and stumbles back a step, sitting down heavily on the bench.

"Y'know what, Maine?" he says, muffled by his hands. "Good work, buddy, I don't think I need your help anymore."

"York," North repeats, lips quirking. "You... wanted to know my name?" York nods into his hands. "And you- you wanted Maine to ask me for it." York groans and nods again. North scoffs something that sounds like 'why Maine' under his breath and shakes his head. "How many people did you go to before Maine?"

"... Four," York admits to the ground. "South, Wash, Lina, and Connie-"

"And... why didn't you ask me directly?" North asks, fond but exasperated, hands planted on his toweled hips.

"Fuck," groans York into his hands, shaking his head helplessly. "I don't fuckin' know."

North chuckles, shaking his head, and walks over to York, placing a hand on his civilian-clothed shoulder. "Why did you even need my name, anyway?"

"See," York begins, "I was gonna make a big gesture about our anniversary, which is coming up, right? And it was gonna be great, and-"

Maine takes the opportunity to pick up his gun and leave. Maybe Carolina will train with him. He hopes next time York has a problem, it involves him as little as possible. That would be for the best, he thinks, then thinks about it no longer.

**Author's Note:**

> and here was me thinking that the hardest part would be figuring out how to say "york did the arin hanson chin thing" in a serious voice. im so done with myself, im so done with everything, what was i even writing. trash me


End file.
